


Pretty Darned Beautiful

by 401



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Body Image, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Scars, Self-Hatred
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-02
Updated: 2015-09-02
Packaged: 2018-04-18 17:27:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4714331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/401/pseuds/401
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky struggles to accept his body after years as the Winter Soldier leaves it scarred and unfamiliar.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pretty Darned Beautiful

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the song 'My Skin' by Nathalie Merchant.

The whole apartment was quiet, achingly so. The slightest movement in the plumbing or call from the rowdy midnight crowd that frequented this part of the city would pierce the silence in a way that made the noises sound like they were in the room with you.

The couple had gotten to a point in their relationship where neither man felt much pressure to fill the quiet with conversation if both seemed content. Steve was sitting on the bed with a book resting on his crossed legs, frowning with focus in the way that he always did. The window was open, despite the brisk autumn weather and was letting in a cold moat of fresh air through the bedroom. Bucky had always loved nights like this, when the sky graduated through its various shades of post-storm blue, colouring the rain scented air with the occasional bolt of orange sunlight, so Steve wondered in the back of his mind why the soldier had been locked in the bathroom for so long.

He was not ready to pry yet. Bucky often lost focus completely, but harmlessly. He would sit staring off into space with his lips slightly parted and his facial expression flickering minutely with whatever was going on in the cloudy space in his head. Steve could tell immediately when that cloudy space turned turbulent and stormy, and only then would he interfere with the comfortable state of preoccupation. It was better than distress, and that was all that mattered.

Bucky was standing in front of the full length mirror in the small bathroom that was connected to the bedroom. He stared at his reflection, a small huff of disgust leaving his mouth. He grimaced as he ran his fingers over the scores of small scars dappled across the pale skin of his chest and stomach, ranging from light pink to angry purple based on age or severity. He gritted his teeth as his flesh fingers hit the raised ridge of metal at his left shoulder. The scarring there was thick, enough so that he had given up all hope of it fading further. He turned, showing his repulsed reflection that it was just as bad at the back.

He did not know why he did this. He didn’t know why his hands would go on a mission to torture himself with a high-definition recount of every lump, scar or freckle on his body, or why his mind would subject any change in softness or size to intense scrutiny and judgement. He put himself through it despite that fact that it made him feel nauseous, humiliated and bitterly conscious for hours afterwards.

_If it makes you feel like this, how do you think Steve feels?_

The thought made tears that Bucky did not know where there roll down his cheeks and fall onto his bare feet. He curled his toes against the tiles and bit his lip to stop the pressure behind his throat from taking over.

“You alright, Buck?”

Steve’s voice called out from the bedroom adjoining. Bucky took a shaky breath.

“I’ll be out in a minute,” Bucky replied, his voice betraying his emotional state instantly.

He had barely pulled his sweatpants back on by the time the door handle clicked.

“Are you…,” Steve paused, his face falling at the red streaks down Bucky’s face.

“Come here,” Steve opened his arms and Bucky ducked into them, burying his face in cologne-scented cotton and clamping his eyes shut.

Steve backed them into the bedroom, not letting go of Bucky’s waist until they were lying facing each other on the bed.

“Tell me,” Steve whispered, pushing strands of hair that were stuck to the soldiers cheeks behind his ears with one hand, and affectionately stroking his bottom lip with the thumb of the other.

“Don’t wanna’ look like this anymore,” Bucky mumbled, rubbing his nose and looking down in embarrassment.

“Yeah?” Steve smiled, “Being so gorgeous is really that difficult?

Bucky chuckled weakly and shook his head. Steve sighed.

“I think you’re pretty darned beautiful,” Steve stated, tilting Bucky’s chin up, “Every bit of you.”

He gestured to Bucky’s metal arm knowingly. He had seen the way he looked at it in the mirror, as if he wanted to tear it right out of the socket there and then. He had seen Bucky fuss with his shirt for ages trying to cover up its jarring titanium form before giving up and deciding not to leave the house at all. He would turn away compliantly when Bucky got changed (something he didn’t even have to do before they were together) and sex was usually a pitch-black occurrence. He knew the insecurity Bucky was feeling as well as he could.

Steve ran his fingertips over the thick band of scarring at Bucky’s shoulder.

“Y’know, it’s kind of beautiful,” Steve kept tracing, “It goes silver and pink in the light, like those pearls your ma had, remember?”

Bucky did remember. He had had enough firm whacks over the backside for so much as touching those darned pearls.

“This one looks like the moon,” Steve pointed at a crescent shaped stab wound at his shoulder.

Bucky smiled, feeling the unease in his stomach lift a little at the affection and acceptance.

“You’re not broken, Buck,” Steve whispered, pulling Bucky to his chest.

Bucky nodded, and for a brief moment, the feeling of strong arms holding him together was enough to make him believe it.

 

 


End file.
